Chapter 1: The Scent Of Gunpowder

  Lyanna Mirrorguard stood rigid by the fire, its flickering heat drying the blood crusted on her armor. The gauntlets pinched her fingers, stiff with the congealing mess, the once-bright red turning to a sickly brown. The stench clawed at her throat—copper, ash, and charred flesh melding into a miasma she had long gotten used to. Around her, the chaotic din of soldiers filled the air—clattering armor, low curses, the groans of the wounded.

  “Pour the water here,” she said, her voice as steady as she could make it, though inside her veins still thrummed with the wild rush of combat.

  A sturdy young woman stepped forward, freckled cheeks flushed from exertion. Determination set her jaw in a way that almost distracted from the dark streak of soot smeared across her face. She nodded briskly and tipped the dented bucket over Lyanna’s outstretched arms. Cold water cascaded over the steel, turning the dried blood into dark, sluggish rivulets. The water pooled in the ashen ground, swirling briefly before soaking into the dirt.

  Lyanna flexed her fingers, loosening the stiff leather of her gloves, and inspected her twin blades—Ember and Scarlet. She turned each sword slowly, letting the firelight play along their edges. The silver runes engraved along their lengths shimmered faintly, pulsing with an inner glow as water dripped from the blade tips.

  “Thank you,” Lyanna murmured, her voice low enough to remain private.

  The young woman straightened, armor rattling as she took a step back. “My lady,” she said with a bow, before melting into the background noise of the camp.

  Lyanna’s eyes dropped to the swords in her hands, their hilts cool despite the lingering heat of battle. Her thumb brushed over the crystals embedded in each pommel—one the gray of spent embers, the other dark red like fresh blood. The crystals thrummed faintly under her touch, the vibrations so familiar they might as well have been a heartbeat. They were more than decorative; they were essence pools, reservoirs for the magic that fueled the runes carved into the blades. The runes that had saved her life more times than she cared to count.

  The swords had been extravagant gifts from her parents, intended for someone older and far more seasoned—a master of the blade with decades of experience, not a girl barely seventeen. They were objects of awe, their power bound to costly crystals embedded in their pommels, their creation a feat that had drained half a year’s worth of taxes from the villages and towns under her family’s banner. That weight lingered in Lyanna’s hands as heavily as the blades themselves—a constant reminder of the expectations she was meant to shoulder. But she clung to a single, unyielding truth: she would prove herself worthy of them.

  And yet, EmberScarlet

  Ember was steady and calm, an anchor during chaos. Scarlet burned hot and wild, a force that dared Lyanna to test her limits. In a way, the blades made up for what she lacked: experience, control, and confidence.

  Closing her eyes, Lyanna steadied her breathing, following the techniques drilled into her during years of training. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Her own pool of essence, however, was . Half a foot wide—that was all she could muster after four years of cultivation. Four years, and she had two meager spells to her name. One to heal, another to control ash. She thought bitterly of her mother’s effortless command of the wind, her sister’s deft mastery over crystal magic.

  Her tutors had been blunt: her age had slowed her growth, and her affinities for ash and blood weren’t just rare—they were difficult to cultivate, unstable by nature. The essence came grudgingly, pooling like sludge compared to the rivers her peers wielded.

  Her fingers tightened around the hilts of the swords, the edges of Scarlet’s rune biting faintly into her palm. The sting was grounding. Get over it. Move forward. Lyanna opened her eyes, forcing her focus outward. The soldiers nearby had started to notice her stillness. She caught one man staring, curiosity glinting in his eyes. Another murmured something to his companion, a glance flicking in her direction.

  Lyanna straightened, rolling her shoulders to force the stiffness from them. She didn’t need their questions.

  Turning on her heel, Lyanna strode through the camp, her boots crunching over the scorched ground. Smoke hung low in the air, a ghostly haze that carried the acrid tang of burnt flesh and blood. Beneath it all lingered the bitter stench of fear—a smell she’d come to recognize after countless skirmishes. She tuned her ears to the camp’s distant hum, trying to sift out the fragments of conversation from the front lines. Somewhere ahead, Karina would be waiting. But it wasn’t just Karina she sought. Lyanna needed to know.

  What were they saying about her?

  The soldiers had already begun their crude revelry, celebrating the battle’s outcome in the way soldiers always did. They toasted their dead with raised cups of stolen ale, bellowed songs of victory, and cursed the orcs who’d dared to raid their lands. The words were venomous, their hatred tangible: orcs who stole crops, razed homes, left children starving. , Lyanna thought. .

  The smell of sweat, smoke, ale, and burnt meat churned her stomach. She almost snapped at them to rein in their celebrations, to remember that the victory wasn’t final. The orc army wasn’t destroyed—not entirely. They were still out there, lurking in the shifting sands of the Burnt Sea, hiding in crevices and ruins, waiting to strike.

  But Lyanna held back. Her mother wouldn’t approve of her berating them in front of the entire camp. A lady maintained her composure, even when the world around her was chaos.

  Instead, Lyanna worried. Had she done enough? Would it be enough to earn her a griffin egg at the upcoming Harvest Moon Festival? The thought clung to her like damp ash. No, not just a griffin. Her fingers tightened involuntarily around Scarlet’s hilt. With the dragon eggs they had captured—there was a chance, however slim, that she might be allowed to bond with one. A dragon, like Karina.

  The idea burned, equal parts hope and dread. Karina had become a legend the moment her bond was sealed. How could Lyanna compete with that? She had to, though. She couldn’t be the shadow of her sister, her whole entire life.

  The soldiers Lyanna passed bowed respectfully. “Lady Lyanna Mirrorguard,” they said, voices rough but unflinchingly sincere. It was a stark contrast to before the battle. Back then, their bows had been mocking—spine-deep contempt for the “fragile noble girl” wearing armor too fine for her skill. Now, though, there was a new note in their tone. Admiration.

  A weathered man jogged up, his face a patchwork of grime, exhaustion, and the deep lines of experience. His tabard was torn, the insignia of his company barely visible beneath the blood and soot.

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  “My Lady,” he said, his voice raspy as if worn from too many shouts. “Thank you. For saving my company. That wyvern…” His words trailed off, but the gratitude in his eyes said more than his voice could ever manage.

  Lyanna winced inwardly, remembering the reckless expenditure of half her ash essence to pull off that flashy kill. Anything for the Queen’s Agents, anything to impress them. “It was my duty, Captain,” she replied, forcing a smile. “It’s what the Mirrorguards do.”

  As Lyanna moved farther from the division she’d fought alongside, the bows began to fade, replaced by whispers trailing in her wake.

  “She killed three dozen orcs, did you hear?”

  “And three wyverns!”

  “On her own, no less…”

  Exaggerations, of course—but Lyanna didn’t mind. Let them talk. Tales like that had a way of growing, spreading, twisting into something grander with each retelling. A half-dozen felled foes became a dozen; a risky maneuver turned into a bold, calculated masterstroke. These stories weren’t just idle gossip. No, they were seeds, planted in the fertile soil of a soldier’s tongue, carried from campfires to command tents.

  And eventually, to the right ears.

  The Queen’s Agents were always listening. Even now, they’d be compiling their reports, readying their ledgers for the Harvest Moon Festival. A time of judgment. A time for seventeen-year-olds across the kingdom to have their fates etched in stone.

  Lyanna’s stomach tightened at the thought. The Harvest Moon Festival wasn’t just a celebration; it was the kingdom’s great reckoning. A year’s worth of deeds and potential distilled into a single verdict. The weak were given roles befitting their station—stewards, blacksmiths, cultivators. But the strong? The exceptional? They were rewarded. Elevated.

  And Lyanna wanted her reward.

  If the stories reached the right lips, if her reputation caught fire before the festival, those inflated numbers might tip the scales in her favor. Perhaps she’d be gifted a griffin egg. Or, if the gods saw fit to smile upon her, a dragon’s egg.

  Lyanna’s heart skipped a beat when she heard one soldier say, “She’s a better swordswoman than her sister was at her age.” Karina, one of the five Champions of Valior, bested by Lyanna? She bit back a smile and straightened her posture. Lyanna couldn’t skip around like a girl. She needed to be... dignified. Head held high.

  But Lyanna’s happiness was short-lived. A dull thudding noise vibrated through the ground. She looked up to see a distant army approaching, their banner flapping in the wind—a black raven. House Blackthorn. Here to steal the glory, to mop up the remnants of the orc army after they, after Karina and Lyanna and their allies, did all the hard work. Thankfully, the Queen was shrewd. She wouldn’t reward the Blackthorns too handsomely, even if the other noble houses fawned over Duke Gideon, begging for scraps like dogs.

  Lyanna picked up her pace, climbing the dunes until she found Karina. Karina stood on the tallest one, a dark silhouette against the horizon, Pyrope at her side. Blood still dripped from her armor, her face, even Pyrope’s scales, still slick with blood.

  Karina was scanning the black dunes, her gaze sweeping across the crevices that crisscrossed the landscape like veins on a leaf. Her lips were slightly pursed, her muscles tense, as if she was about to jump—to the side. A tell Lyanna had learned from countless spars against her.

  Karina was worried. About what though? Lyanna climbed the dune, her footsteps steady and silent. “Blackthorn’s here,” she said, reaching the top. “Come to steal our thunder.” Lyanna scratched Pyrope under her chin, where the scales on her snout met the softer ones of her neck.

  “Half his force is circling around back,” Karina replied. “A messenger just arrived. They’re hoping to catch the orcs in a pincer.”

  “Why does it matter if they steal our glory?” Pyrope rumbled, her voice a deep thrum that vibrated through Lyanna’s bones. “If it saves lives…”

  “Because then I won’t get a griffin! Or a dragon!” Lyanna exclaimed, frustration bubbling up. “Even if the Queen’s Agent knows what I did, they won’t offend House Blackthorn by making us look better, especially with Alec being the same age as me.”

  “Lyanna!” Karina snapped, her blue eyes flashing. “You’d risk lives for glory?”

  “It’s not just about glory!” Lyanna retorted, but Pyrope cut her off.

  “It’s about more than you, little hatchling,” she said, her voice gentler now. “The Mirrorguard motto…”

  Lyanna gritted her teeth but relented, slumping her shoulders, defeated. “Through the mirror’s pane, we see our true selves,” she said. “And only those who emerge unbroken can shield the innocent from the shadows and cast the undeserving into the darkness.”

  “So what are both you worried about?” Lyanna asked, changing the subject.

  “Orcs,” Pyrope replied simply.

  “But why would they attack now?” Lyanna frowned. “They were routed. It would be suicide. And if you are so worried about an attack why is the army busy celebrating?”

  “Celebrating is good for morale,” Karina said, her gaze still fixed on the horizon. “And my aides have ensured the army can be ready to fight in minutes.”

  “They may have been defeated,” Pyrope added, “but we haven’t seen their main force, their best dragon-riders. Only their leader. And them paying for Aeristha’s services… it means they’re desperate and willing to do whatever it takes. Plus, the Seers have warned of great bloodshed.”

  “Seers?” Lyanna scoffed. “Their visions are notoriously unreliable. Often just dreams.”

  “True,” Pyrope conceded, “but several Seers have seen the same vision, independently.”

  Karina sighed, glancing at the approaching Blackthorn army. “Meditate, Lyanna. Recover your essence. I need to get this army ready to find the orc bastards.”

  Lyanna sat on the edge of the dune, closing her eyes, focusing on her essence core. Time stretched, the sounds of the camp fading into a dull hum. Then, a sudden cry of alarm jolted her awake. Lyanna opened her eyes to see it—a massive platform lumbering into view, giant gears rotating wheels the size of buildings. And atop it, a monstrous cannon, glowing with an eerie light that seemed to suck the color from the world around it.

  A Skybreaker cannon

  Lyanna’s teacher’s words echoed in her mind:

  A shiver ran down Lyanna’s spine, a potent mix of fear and twisted excitement. If she could disable that cannon… Alec Blackthorn would be left with nothing, and she… she could finally gain enough glory for a dragon egg!

  Lyanna leaped to her feet, drawing Ember and Scarlet, but Karina’s voice stopped her cold.

  “Lyanna! Take as many soldiers as you can gather and hide in a crevice. Now!”

  “But I want to help! We can destroy the cannon. We can—”

  “Lyanna, I am your commander, and you obey my orders!” Karina’s voice was sharp, laced with a fury Lyanna had rarely seen.

  “But—”

  “I will let you throw your life away for some childish notion of glory!”

  “I can do it! I can attack the cannon, disable it, and no one will steal our—”

  Karina’s eyes burned with fury. “I have indulged your selfishness for far too long, Lyanna,” she hissed, her voice dangerously low. “I foolishly believed you would grow out of this childish obsession with glory. But I see now that I was wrong.”

  “For the last time, I am ordering you to take as many soldiers as you can gather and find a crevice to hide in. And since you seem to be having trouble understanding my orders…” Lyanna opened her mouth to argue, but Karina’s hand lashed out before she could speak——the sound echoing in the sudden silence.

  Lyanna’s head snapped to the side, the sting of Karina’s slap searing across her cheek. Her vision blurred, her mind spinning in a cyclone of shock and betrayal. Through the haze, she saw Karina striding away, barking orders to prepare Pyrope for flight.

  Before Lyanna could fully regain her senses, Pyrope, with Karina riding on her back, launched into the air, heading straight for the Skybreaker cannon.

  surged through Lyanna, hot and blinding. Karina feared being outshone, feared Lyanna would prove herself the better warrior. Karina wanted the glory of destroying the cannon, and worried Lyanna would take it from her.

  But there was still a way to win. If Lyanna could save the army, if she could ensure their survival against that monstrous weapon… The Queen’s Agent would recognize that surely?

  Lyanna raced down the dune, her heart pounding. The soldiers, once eager to finish off the remnants of the orc army, now stared at the advancing cannon with a mix of awe and terror.

  “Lady Lyanna?” one of them asked, his voice trembling. “What do we do?”

  Lyanna took a deep breath, forcing herself to project an image of calm confidence, even though her insides were churning. “We hide,” she said, her voice ringing with authority. “Find the nearest crevice, the deepest you can find. Take cover and don’t come out until I say otherwise. And pray to Arthor that it’s enough.”

  Panic rippled through the ranks, but they obeyed. They knew the power of a Skybreaker cannon. They knew that out in the open, they were as good as dead.

  Lyanna scanned the landscape, searching for a suitable hiding place for herself. Her gaze fell upon a narrow fissure in the black earth, barely wide enough to squeeze through. It would do.

  As she scrambled into the darkness, the ground began to tremble. The Skybreaker cannon was charging, sucking the very essence from the air around it. Lyanna closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable.

  And then, the world exploded